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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325567">The idea behind Spider-Man and Robin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueLightningAndNexus/pseuds/BlueLightningAndNexus'>BlueLightningAndNexus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Marvel + DC Combined Universe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brief Mentions of Blood, Canon Welding, Crossover, Revised Origin Story, Shared Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:29:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueLightningAndNexus/pseuds/BlueLightningAndNexus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The night he witnesses his Uncle Ben die, Peter Parker is lost, unsure of what to do with his guilt or newfound powers. Then, he witnesses two great heroes, and gets an idea. An idea that will forever change his life, and alter the course of history. </p><p>Years later, a boy named Dick Grayson watches a new report about Spider-Man, and gets a similar idea.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Marvel + DC Combined Universe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055438</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter was running. </p><p>He took shallow, scared breaths as he sprinted down New York’s shadowy streets. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen. </p><p>The blood pouring on the sidewalk. The people gathered around. The look on Uncle Ben’s face as the last of his life slipped away. </p><p>“No, no, don’t think of that, you can’t think of that,” Peter told himself. He must have been mistaken. That must have been someone else. </p><p>But it wasn’t. Peter was a smart kid, and he knew that was the man who had raised him. </p><p>Ben Parker was dead, and it was all Peter’s fault. </p><p>As Peter continued to sprint, he came out of an alley, only a millisecond before noticing the car. It was a dark blue minivan, and he caught a glimpse of the man in the passenger’s seat, driving somewhat erratically. </p><p>Peter had less than a quarter of a second to react, but considering his newfound abilities, he might as well have had ten minutes. Instantly, he bent his knees, crouched down, and leaped nearly 10 feet in the air, arms flailing, legs kicking out, body twisting and turning like an Olympic gymnast. It wasn’t something he had any control over, but some bizarre instinct he didn’t fully understand. He just felt a tingling go down his spine, and the next thing he knew, he was in the air, screaming his head off. </p><p>Despite having no idea what the hell just happened, Peter miraculously landed on his feet with catlike reflexes after completing a flip in the air. Falling 10 feet onto the pavement didn’t hurt one bit, or even hinder his movement. The driver looked on in awe as Peter recovered from his tumble and kept sprinting at full speed. </p><p>Ever since that spider bite, he’d been changed. He was much faster, and had way more stamina than any boy his age should reasonably have. He was stronger, his eyes were better, and sometimes he swore he could hear people talking from miles away. He ran until he couldn’t move anymore; with his newfound endurance, this wouldn’t be until hours later. </p><p>Eventually, he found himself in some back alley on the other side of Manhattan. Peter fell to his knees, exhausted, and screamed. He screamed until his throat was bloody and tears streamed down his face and he couldn’t scream anymore. </p><p> </p><p>By the time Peter started to return home, it was nearly 1:00 am, according to the small watch on his wrist. </p><p>This time, he didn’t run, for he had no energy left. He didn’t cry; he ran out of tears. He didn’t scream; his voice was destroyed. </p><p>All he could do was mourn. </p><p>As Peter walked through the streets of Manhattan--still alive and filled with people at this ungodly hour of the night--he couldn’t help but think of his uncle’s words. </p><p>“With great power, comes great responsibility.”</p><p>Peter knew this. He knew that phrase like the back of his hand. You don’t get to live with Ben and May Parker for your entire life and not have their philosophies rub off on you. </p><p>But Peter failed. He didn’t follow through on Ben’s ideology. He could’ve stopped that robber--he should have stopped that robber--but he didn’t. Peter never considered himself much of a superstitious person, but what he’d witnessed was nothing short of karma in its simplest form. </p><p>The face of that man was still etched in his mind. Everytime he closed his eyes, he remembered that robber: his long sandy blonde hair; his dead, dark eyes; the silver handle of his handgun; the simple, small star tattoo on his wrist. </p><p>If only he could find him...</p><p>Peter went from guilt, to shame, before briefly settling on anger. His eyes narrowed, darkened. He clenched his hands into fists, and scowled. </p><p>He had the power to do whatever he wanted. He’s so much stronger and faster than he was even a few days ago. He went from being a wimpy teenager who only knew computers, to someone capable of lifting a car. His experiments the last several days had been paying off; he still didn’t know the full extent of his powers, but his senses and instincts had been cranked up to absurd levels, and he could stick to just about any surface. </p><p>He could find this man, who took Uncle Ben’s life, and deal evil unto evil. It was as he learned in history class, with Hammurabi’s Code: “An eye for an eye.”</p><p>In an instant, Peter felt intense disgust and regret. How could he even think of doing that? After all this time, had Uncle Ben and Aunt May’s teachings done nothing to him?</p><p>“Tonight’s story: Metropolis’ hero has finally defeated the criminal John Corben!”</p><p>Peter’s enhanced hearing caught those words, and he turned around, hoping to find the source. </p><p>He found himself looking at a nearby electronics store. Numerous TV sets--some older, clunky models, while others were massive, paper-thin plasma models--were all lined up in a display, all set to the news. A particularly long plasma model, about 48-inches in diameter, was at the center, and it grabbed Peter’s attention. </p><p>It showed a reporter, a woman with dark black hair and piercing brown eyes, dressed in a purple suit with a microphone. She was a news reporter, and one that Peter recognized from when Aunt May watched the news. </p><p>“I’m Lois Lane from the Daily Planet, and behind the camera we have my partner Jimmy Olsen.”</p><p>Peter turned his entire body to face the TVs. He was captivated by what he saw. </p><p>“Here with us, we have the Man of Steel himself, Superman!”</p><p>The camera angle shifted slightly, moving forward to reveal a caped figure descending from the sky. He had a massive, crimson “S” on his otherwise blue suit, with a light red cape. His hair was obsidian black, and he had a small yellow belt and red boots. </p><p>The teenage boy’s eyes widened in recognition. Superman: the greatest hero the world had ever seen, and the most powerful. </p><p>Peter was no idiot; he knew that other heroes emerged earlier, like Wonder Woman, Namor, Captain America and the Fantastic Four. But Superman was different. He’d only emerged about 2 years prior, but he quickly became an icon, making a name for himself by defeating high-profile villains and saving hundreds of civilians, always with a smile on his face, always willing to floor any questions that reporters might have for him. Peter had read about some of his exploits back in the day, including the defeat of one General Zodd, but he hadn’t started making more public appearances until recently. </p><p>The entire area that they were recording in was some kind of dumpster, or at least it resembled one. It seemed to be in the aftermath of a grand fight between Superman and this Corben figure--Peter recognized that name from online news, a villain that called himself “Metallo.”</p><p>Superman stepped closer, nodding to Lois in recognition, as if the two somehow knew each other. </p><p>“Thank you, Ms. Lane, but I couldn’t have done it by myself. I would like to give credit to a new ally of mine that helped defeat Corben: the Batman of Gotham City.”</p><p>The camera refocused on a shadow in the background, descending onto the streets. The Batman came into focus, a tall figure with pointed ears, a cowl that covered most of his face, and a long, flowing cape. Peter couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Batman was a notorious vigilante from Gotham City; he only ever worked alone. What the hell was he doing in Metropolis, with someone as high-profile as Superman of all people?</p><p>“It was something of a team effort,” Superman said, a charismatic smile on his face. He turned to the Dark Knight, whose expression remained unchanged, saying nothing in return. </p><p>“Was this a one-time alliance?” Lois asked Superman. “A mutual desire to defeat a common foe? Or the start of a larger partnership?”</p><p>Once again, Superman looked to Batman, and this time, the latter took the hint and spoke. “Only time will tell,” he cryptically replied. He spoke in a calm, dark baritone. </p><p>“Well, we’re grateful for everything you two have done tonight,” Lois replied, a genuine, down-to-earth smile on her face. “We are truly grateful to be living in an age of heroes.”</p><p>Peter looked down at his hands, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fit in place. ‘With great power, comes great responsibility,’ he heard once more in his mind. He had the power to find his uncle’s killer, and he would do so. But not as some street thug out for revenge. No, Peter Parker was going to be a superhero, like Batman and Superman. Not just any hero, but the greatest one that New York City had ever seen. He wasn’t going to hunt this man for revenge, but for justice. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Uncle Ben,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll do better this time. I promise.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2: Dick Grayson</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For as long as he could remember, Dick Grayson loved heroes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being part of a traveling circus, he got used to never having a place he could call home. For him, home wasn’t a place, but people: not just his mom and dad, but everyone that was a part of the Flying Graysons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gotham City would always be his home. It was the place the Flying Graysons performed at most often. It was where his parents met, where they fell in love. Hell, they were only introduced to one-another because of Lieutenant James Gordon, one of his dad’s lifelong friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But New York City always had this certain charm, this glow, that even as a child Dick recognized. Besides Gotham and sometimes Chicago or Central City, New York City was the place they visited most often, the place with the most fans, the most family. It had more heroes than any other city in America. In one massive metropolis, the Avengers and Fantastic Four operated in spitting distance from heroes like Doctor Strange, Power Girl, Luke Cage, Creeper and Spider-Man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <b>Spider-Man</b>
  <span>. Dick always knew that there was something special about him. Whenever he appeared on the news, Dick would watch those videos religiously. He moved around with all of these amazing flips and acrobatics, moves that Dick would try to replicate in their family gym. He was always going out of his way to save people, to protect the New Yorkers. Even though he wore a mask, Dick just knew he was smiling underneath it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There would always be people who said otherwise--G. Gordon Godfrey, Graydon Creed, J. Jonah Jameson--but Dick knew that Spider-Man was a hero. A true, honest hero. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dick talked about it with his parents one time, while they were between shows at Blue Valley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man had saved a couple hostages from the Shocker in City Hall. The Avengers were off-world, the Fantastic Four in Latveria. Spider-Man managed to get the hostages all out, web up the bad guys, and still be gone before the police showed up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Already, the news was split. Some were praising the webslinger as New York’s finest hero, predicting that he would one day surpass the expertise of Captain America, Iron Man and Batman. Others still believed that he was a threat. “He’s wearing a mask!” J. Jonah Jameson shouted on the news. “He’s a menace! An attention whore, taking advantage of the Avengers’ absence to carve out his own corner of the city!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were in their tent, a small television set up in the corner of the room. Dick Grayson, at ten years of age, was practicing his back handsprings while watching the news, internally rolling his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They don’t get him, son.” John Grayson’s voice was usually soft and warm. Now, it seemed cautious and informative, but almost bitter. “They don’t understand the idea of a person doing good cause it’s good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John was standing next to his wife, Mary, the two of them stretching before their daily training routine. “Never forget that, son. Some people are just good because there’s nothing else worth being.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s ridiculous,” Mary said, brushing a lock of dark brown hair out of her face. “He wears a mask so he doesn’t get hurt. Now, people are calling to unmask him.” If she wasn’t holding a leg behind her head, she’d shake it in disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It really started with Superman!” Dick said, eager to rejoin the conversation. “He didn’t wear a mask, and he was one of the first. Now, everyone thinks that’s the way to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He had a lot of his detractors too,” John admitted. “Like that crazy rich guy, Luthor, who kept trying to chase him out of town.” John looked at his wife pensively. “People don’t understand the whole thing.” He grabbed the remote, turning off the TV. “The mask isn’t just to keep his loved ones safe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick landed a standing front flip, striking a pose. “What else is it, dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a twinkle in his eye and the smile returning to his face, John answered, “Some heroes wear a mask so people can’t see when they are afraid, my boy.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It’d been a few months since...well, his parent’s final show. Since Tony Zucco, and their fall. It still hurt to think about it, but Dick could say their names without crying. He could look at his reflection in the mirror and not see his father, or his mother. The nightmares still didn’t stop, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I had just been a bit faster</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he sometimes caught himself thinking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>if I had just been a bit </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>better</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>, I might’ve saved them. They might still be alive. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. Dwelling on the past was no way to live a life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The days that followed were a blur. Talking to the police, the funeral, the Flying Graysons going home, it was all so quick Dick almost didn’t notice Bruce Wayne stepping into the picture, a three-piece suit over his chiseled body and adoption papers in hand. The next thing Dick knew, he was in Wayne Manor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And sure, the Manor was fun. I mean, it’s Bruce Wayne, what kind of kid wouldn’t think that was fun? The central wing had a library with more books than Dick could ever read in its life. It had its own pool, even its gym, and Bruce made sure to buy plenty of gymnastics equipment so Dick could stay busy. Practicing his routine took his mind off...well, you know. And Alfred was really nice. But that was part of the problem: Dick saw the elderly butler more than the man who actually took him in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce was always taking off at the weirdest of times. He had work during the day (sure, he was a busy man, of course), but he’d take off at every phone call, usually in the middle of the night. Then Dick wouldn’t see him again until Bruce was out the door, on his way to work the next day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a bizarre routine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I thought the whole point of being rich was not working, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dick found himself wondering. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bruce works like a maniac. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>One day, after dinner with just Alfred (which was starting to become the norm), Dick found himself wandering the halls. Bruce enrolled him in a private school, but the new semester didn’t start until next month. All his friends were back with the troupe, all his relatives in Romania. There was no one to be with, nothing to do but explore the Manor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick came into a room on the West Wing. It was one of his favorites to be in, a place to just think. It was a wide open rectangular area. Not really a library, but more of a study. A thick carpet with gold and red patterns lined the floor. A grand piano was in the center, out-of-tune and dusty. A single bookshelf was behind the piano, it’s shelves showing a strange combination of genealogy texts, history books and classical fiction. A desk was in the corner of the room, and next to it, a grandfather clock that looked older than Dick’s actual grandfather. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick took a deep breath. This room smelled like the thin pages of an old novel, and he loved it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spun around, then jumped in the air, twisting his body into a double flip with perfect grace. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bruce would kill me if he saw me horsing around like this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dick thought, just as he elegantly landed and struck a flashy pose.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With his arms outstretched like he was back at the circus for an encore performance, Dick noticed something. A sliver of yellow light, extending across the hardwood floor. Following it, Dick saw it led to the grandfather clock; specifically, to the right side, where the clock’s wooden frame didn’t quite seem to meet the old brick wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking behind him to make sure Alfred wasn’t around, Dick walked over to the clock. He’d seen Bruce come in this room a couple times; his eyes always seemed to glaze over this clock. The antique was broken. It’s hands were set to 10:27 pm. Dick asked Alfred one time if that time meant anything, and the butler gave him a sad, weary look before changing the subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Approaching the clock, Dick rested a hand on the wood and pushed slightly. The clock moved to the left, as if it were an ajar door. Inside, Dick saw dim, blinking lights and a narrow, stone tunnel. The gap was just big enough for Dick to slip through, and he did so, pulling the clock behind him to cover his tracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is incredible, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dick thought. The walls were narrow, definitely not enough for more than one person to get through at a time, yet the ceilings were high, maybe ten or eleven feet or so. The sound of water dripping echoed down the cave, keeping Dick alert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a minute of crawling through the tunnel, nearly tripping over a few extended pieces of stone that formed stairs in the dark, he found himself in a much more open area. Massive industrial lights hung over the ceiling, which now grew to be hundreds of feet above Dick’s tiny head. Metallic platforms, shining walkways and steel circles were suspended by cables hanging from that ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where am I?” Dick asked aloud. “Is this a room, or…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking back at the stairs, Dick started to piece it together. “Am I...underneath the manor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice behind him was faint, almost invisible, but distinctly Alfred’s. “Master Grayson?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Dick swore, before covering his mouth in shame. He picked up the pace, running down the black stone steps as fast as he could while still being silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, once Dick got close enough to the bottom of the stairs, he leapt onto one of the platforms below. The sound of his landing boomed throughout the cave. The chasm beneath the walkway was probably hundreds of feet deep, and Dick felt like the abyss was going to swallow him any minute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking down the platforms, more and more motion-detection lights came on with each step, illuminating all sorts of bizarre items: marble statues, Renaissance-era portraits, a giant penny the size of a car, and...a T-Rex statue. Huh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is this place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The platforms branched off into three main paths. Straight ahead was a massive supercomputer, bigger than any TV Dick had ever seen in his life. It looked almost like the massive screens they have in Times Square, back in New York. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To the left was a much wider path, the platforms angling down into a pool of water, being filled over and over again by a thin waterfall that came from the top of the cave. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, so that was the water I heard earlier</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Floating in the water was a huge, jet black submarine, the bottom half of which was invisible underneath the murky water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To the right was a new path. Tiny lights the size of golfballs were placed at equal spots along the path, revealing a massive car, bigger than Dick had ever seen. His eyes lit up with joy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Batmobile!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the coolest thing Dick had seen in his decade of life. The vehicle was covered in scars and scratches, no doubt from countless criminals and high-speed chases. It was more of a tank than anything else, with gigantic tires that could tread through any terrain, and a cannon mounted on the top that could fold back into the vehicle’s base. The platform it was on spun around and faced Dick, as if it had chosen him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick approached the vehicle, hand outstretched as if it were a wild animal he was trying to tame. Before he reached it, another motion light activated, illuminating the adjacent cave wall. Sprawled out along the foremost wall were wooden cases of some kind, with thin glass doors. In each of the seven cases were suits of some kind. On the far-left side, the case contained the outfit a stereotypical burglar might wear: a dark cap, thick gloves, heavy boots, dark gray sweatpants and a black turtleneck with golden belts running vertically along the fabric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The case on the far-right side had a much more sophisticated suit. The suit was tall and thick, with ridges and creases along the chest, shoulders and arms. It looked more like a suit of armor. The logo of a bat in the center sent chills down Dick’s spine. The headpiece was attached to the neck of the armor, the blank white eyes of the cowl staring back down at Dick, as if into his soul. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that...Batman?” Dick asked himself. “Where am I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re in the Batcave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The deep voice nearly made Dick jump out of his skin. He turned around and saw Bruce, standing tall, face unreadable. </span>
  <em>
    <span>When did he get here? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“B-Bruce!” Dick shouted. “What are you doing here? What is this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadows of the cave seemed to move around Bruce, as if responding to his every thought. It made him look huge, menacing, even. “Got done with my meeting a bit early.” His face was completely neutral, his words even and flat. “Figured I’d come down and see what the fuss was about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”I-I’m so sorry, I just saw that door there, and-and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, son,” Bruce said, putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “I left the door open so you could find it. You probably figured it out, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick looked back at the costume. “So, that means…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce nodded. He glanced out at the Batmobile, then back to Dick, deep in thought. “The truth is, I am...Batman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick looked like he was about ready to pass out. He looked at his guardian like the man was a ghost. “Are you going to...kill me now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce blinked twice, then laughed. It was a deep, throaty, unnatural sound. “No, no, of course not, Grayson. Like I said, I wanted you to find this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick’s head was spinning. What did this all mean? What did any of this mean?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought it was only fair that you knew, Dick,” Bruce said. “This is why I’ve been gone for so long. But…” he hesitated, as if afraid to voice his feelings. “I don’t want to leave you alone anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kneeled down to Dick’s eye level. “I know your pain, Dick. I struggle with that loss everyday of my life. It’s why I built, well, this,” he said, gesturing grandly to the cave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused, as if letting that sink in. His reasons for everything. “Now that you know the truth, it’s your choice. I got in contact with some of your relatives in Romania. If you don’t feel safe anymore, or you don’t want to be here, just say the word and we can find someone else to take you in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what’s option two?” Dick asked innocently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rose back to his feet. Bruce dropped his voice a half-octave. His eyes grew dark, cold. “Option two? You stay here, with Alfred and I. We fight crime together, as a team.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce walked past Dick, over to the central platform with the Batcomputer. He pressed a button on the side, and the machine hummed to life. A small camera the size of a penny poked out of the top. Bruce stayed perfectly still as it scanned his face, red light covering his left eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Facial scan complete. Welcome, Mr. Wayne,” the computer said. The camera retracted, and the monitors lit up. A keyboard slid out from underneath the monitor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce typed a couple of commands into the computer, and data poured onto the screen. Fingerprints, names, mugshots, files, and in the center of it all was a face: Tony Zucco. A small, round man with a few scraps of gray and brown hair, Tony scowled at the camera. His sunken gray eyes sent waves of anger and fear down Dick’s spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been in contact with friends, informants,” Bruce explained. Turning back to his ward, he said, “I have friends in the police. Friends I trust.” His voice turned hopeful, almost excited. “Dick, I think we have him. We can give you the catharsis I never got. We can bring him down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick walked over, eyes still fixated on the picture of his parent’s killer. The faces of his parents came to him in a flash. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dick, I spent every day of my adolescence hoping--wishing, even--for the man who killed my parents to show up. I wish I could’ve found him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a brief second, Bruce Wayne looked much, much older to Dick. Not just because of the deepness in his voice, or how much taller he stood, but because of his eyes. They contained something inside of them, something overwhelmingly sad. It almost hurt to meet Bruce’s gaze. As if, at the ripe old age of thirty, Bruce had already lived an entire life of pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t bring them back,” Bruce admitted, “but it’ll be a step in a new direction. The start of a new life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin domino mask. Dick looked at it with curious eyes, bright as the sun, and took it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words of his father echoed in his mind: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Some heroes wear a mask so people can’t see when they are afraid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Was that true for Bruce? Was he afraid? Dick put the mask on, and it fit his face like it was made for him. Which, considering how crazy-prepared Bruce was for this whole situation, it very well might have been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what?” Dick asked. “Am I supposed to be...Batboy? Batman Jr.?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The skeleton of a smile covered Bruce’s face. “No. I’m not going to force you to do anything. You can pick whatever codename you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with a mask over his face, Bruce could tell that there was a fire burning in his eyes, a fire waiting to be released.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick thought of the heroes of old. Hercules, Merlin, Robin Hood. He always admired them as a young boy, just as he admired the heroes of new: Iron Man, Superman, Wonder Woman. Dick thought of his parents: his mother’s kind smile, his father’s wise words, and their faces as they plummeted. He’d never let anyone fall again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick Grayon thought of Spider-Man, a masked crusader for all. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Some people are just good because there’s nothing else worth being. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m in.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you like it! I've been wanting to write this for a while. Sorry its so short, I just couldn't think of anything else to really write!</p><p>Spider-Man, Superman and Batman are the three most popular comic book heroes, but Peter is significantly younger than Bruce and Clark. Plus, it seems like Stan Lee got a lot of ideas from both of those comics while writing Spider-Man (such as Peter working at a newspaper like Clark, for example). This led me to wondering "What if Peter got the idea to be a hero from watching Superman and Batman, and he was raised in a world full of heroes?". So he would be inspired by Superman and Batman in much the same way MCU!Peter is inspired by Iron Man, for example. </p><p>I want this to be the start of a larger universe, so I'll probably right more like this :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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